Unforgettable
by Zeplerfer
Summary: Alfred has given many lives for his country, and he remembers each one perfectly. But the memory that lingers is of an English soldier he met in the final battles of WWII and never saw again. USUKUS. Reincarnation AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Alfred has given many lives for his country, and he remembers each one perfectly. But the memory that lingers is of an English soldier he met in the final battles of WWII and never saw again.

**Rating**: M for bad pick-up lines and USUK frickle-frackle.

* * *

><p>Clifton Road Cemetery was a quiet, contemplative place, surrounded by a brick wall and thick hedges that blocked out the chilly autumn winds and the sounds of the nearby roads. A few other visitors walked the grounds, and Alfred was grateful for the company. He worried that the cemetery was haunted, but at least in the crisp light of day, with other people about, he could walk up and down the rows of graves without too much fear as he searched for a specific name. Some of the grave markers were so old and worn that the names could no longer be read, but he passed those by without a second glance. He was looking for someone who had died a little more recently.<p>

The other visitors carried wreaths of poppies and lilies, more appropriate flowers for remembrance. Alfred preferred his single red rose. Edward had mentioned his dream of having a large rose garden once, so it seemed a fitting choice for the English soldier.

He finally found the right headstone in a quiet corner shaded by an old oak tree. The American knelt in front of the marker and placed the red rose beneath a name he would never forget. His eyes misted over as he saw the date of death: 1991. He felt a surge of bittersweet happiness to know that Edward had survived the war by many decades. Alfred hoped that he had been happy living in this quiet corner of England. He didn't see a grave for "Mrs. Wright" nearby, but he wasn't surprised. He had never expected Edward to be the marrying sort.

"Hey, Eddie," he whispered to the headstone. "Do you know how hard it was to find you, old man? I tried so many times, back when you still would have recognized me. I'm sorry we never had a chance to meet again in the same lifetime. But... I want you to know that hundreds of years from now I will still remember the color of your eyes."

The memories washed over him as he crouched near the grave. Edward offering him a cigarette outside the mess tent. The man firing his artillery gun into the rubble, his thick eyebrows scrunched in fury and concentration as he saved the American's life. And later, his hot breath and soft touch as they made love in the aftermath of battle.

Alfred wiped the tears from his eyes and climbed to his feet. Wanting a memento, he pulled his phone out of his backpack and snapped a few shots of the grave marker.

"Don't you think that's rather tasteless?" a crisp voice asked from over his shoulder.

Alfred yelped and dropped his phone on the ground. His heart started beating again when he turned around and saw that the voice was coming from a handsome young man, not a grumpy ghost. Breathing a sigh of relief, he picked up the phone and smiled at the scowling Englishman. "I'm not a tourist, if that's what you're thinking," he replied, returning the phone to his backpack.

Thick eyebrows arched in disbelief. "Well, I know you're not a relative."

"You are, though, judging by those 'brows. They must run in the family, huh?" Alfred laughed at the look of surprise on the other man's face. Grinning, he reached out for a handshake. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Alfred."

"Arthur," the man politely introduced himself as he shook Alfred's hand, though he continued to give the American a suspicious look. "So if you're not a tourist or a relative, who are you? You're too young to have known him."

"No, I didn't know him personally," Alfred agreed with a smile. "But gramps did. He said that Edward Wright saved his life during the war."

"Was your grandfather Theodore Wilson? Is he still alive?" Arthur asked. His green eyes flickered with something close to hope.

"That's him, but he died when I was young," Alfred replied, sorry to be the one to douse the glimmer of hope. "Gramps used to talk about trying to find Eddie to thank him while he was alive, so I thought I'd do it for him."

"I see," though Arthur's voice was calm, he seemed to blink back tears. "Well, that was very thoughtful of you. I'm sure they both would have appreciated it."

"Yeah, I just wish he could have come here himself. It's too bad they didn't digitize the grave records until a few years ago. To be honest, I wasn't even sure this was the right Edward, but I think your eyebrows kind of answer that question."

Arthur snorted. "Well, I'm glad they're useful for something."

They stood in respectful silence as Arthur added his own flower to the grave, another rose, although his was white. Alfred smiled fondly at the two roses lying side by side. Despite the years, it seemed that Edward's favorite flower had never changed. "I bet he had a real nice rose garden," Alfred said.

"He did." A hint of smile touched Arthur's lips, and in that moment he looked exactly like the English soldier that Alfred had fallen in love with. Alfred's heart clenched painfully and he had to look away, reminding himself that this wasn't his Eddie. "There's not much blooming at the moment, but would you like to see the garden?" Arthur offered, bringing Alfred back to the present.

"Yeah, that would be awesome!" Alfred replied enthusiastically. He had come to see the place where Edward was buried, but it would be even better to see where he had lived.

The house was a short drive away and it was exactly the sort of bucolic cottage in the English countryside that Edward had always talked about owning. Boxwood hedges decorated the walk to the front door, but the back garden had clearly been Edward's pride and joy. Even in the chilly autumn weather, asters and marigolds provided specks of color among the dormant plants. An antique ironwork table and chairs sat near the center of the garden and Alfred could tell it was where Edward had spent many happy hours, reading his books and sipping his tea, the model of a perfect English gentleman.

"It's gorgeous," Alfred murmured. "He must have really loved it here."

"The conservatory was always his favorite place in the autumn," Arthur agreed, leading Alfred to the small Victorian-style glass structure. The inside was warm and fragrant, with flowers filling every inch of the plant boxes. Arthur pointed to a group of lovely white roses. "Those are the ones I take to his grave ever year for Remembrance Sunday."

Alfred leaned forward to take in the heady scent. He turned around to say something, caught his foot on a loose brick, and ended up stumbling into Arthur, pressing him against the nearest plant box. Arthur gasped, but it didn't sound like pain. Both of their faces turned bright red as Alfred stepped back and apologized. From the way Arthur dropped his gaze and blushed at the sudden body contact, Alfred could guess that eyebrows weren't the only characteristic that Arthur shared with his grandfather.

"Sorry, Artie. I can be such a klutz," Alfred said with a laugh. He wondered if he could find an excuse to touch Arthur again, then reminded himself that it was creepy to think that the grandson was cute just because he reminded Alfred so strongly of his grandfather.

"Not a problem. Would, um, would you like some tea?" Arthur offered hesitantly.

"Not unless it's cold and has a ton of sugar in it."

Arthur scowled. "I will not serve that abomination in my house. You can have water."

Alfred quickly learned that 'tea' meant 'dinner' and that Arthur's cooking was almost as bad as the cardboard army rations he had eaten during the war. After dinner, the water was quickly replaced with a gin and tonic as they both decided they wanted a stronger drink, and the first gin and tonic soon turned into four. Around drink two, Alfred decided that it wasn't creepy to want to kiss Edward's grandson. His tryst with the English soldier been decades ago, and a different lifetime. Around drink three, he was almost positive that Arthur wanted to kiss him too, judging by the way the young man kept glancing at him and blushing. Sitting on antique couches in the parlor, they continued to swap stories about their grandfathers' lives until Alfred could imagine Edward's full life after the war.

"So what do you do?" Alfred finally asked. "I know everything about your grandpa, but nothing about _you_."

Arthur blinked. "I'm a bit of a writer acshually. Historical fiction, I guess."

"Really? That's so cool, Artie! I do Teach for America. I've got this great bunch of high schoolers that I'm teaching American history."

"Shouldn't you be in secondary school yourself?" Arthur asked with a smirk.

"Hey! I am plenty old enough to teach." Alfred crossed his arms and pouted. Yes, he had graduated college very early, but he was sick of people calling him too young. It wasn't his fault that school was easy when he had learned it all before.

"It's just... rare to meet someone with the same love of *hic* history," Arthur gave him a loose smile. "I guess we both love old stuff."

"Yeah," Alfred grinned, "but I've got my eye on something new right now."

Arthur blushed and flustered. "How long will you be in the area?" he asked, gazing at Alfred with an unreadable look in his brilliant eyes.

"My flight leaves on Tuesday," Alfred replied. He had already made plans to see a friend in London, but he was more than willing to cancel. Spending time with Arthur was more important. The young man stirred feelings he hadn't felt in years. As long as Arthur was willing, he wanted to follow the rabbit hole as far as it would go.

"Lovely!" Arthur replied with a drunken smile. "Let me show you 'round. I should... I should show you the fairies! They live in the forest, you know."

"Thanks, man." Alfred chuckled. He wondered what it was about drunk Englishmen that made them talk about fairies; Edward had done the same thing. It was usually the sign that it was time to help him back to his bunk before he started picking drunken fights with Frenchmen. "But I think the first stop should be your bedroom," Alfred suggested.

"Oh, I quite agree," Arthur purred. He stood up and would have faceplanted on the coffee table if Alfred hadn't caught him by the elbow. "Has that table always been there?" he asked curiously as Alfred led him up the stairs.

"I dunno. It's your house."

"Right! Been mine for generations and generations and generations," Arthur said glumly as they stumbled into his bedroom. "You're too much like him," he whispered as he brushed his fingers through Alfred's hair. "I don't know if I should kiss you or cry."

"I think you should go to sleep," Alfred replied, gently leading the drunk and despondent young man to his four-poster bed. He realized that he had been so concerned about his own shameful attraction to his lover's grandson, that he had failed to consider Arthur's feelings. The young man was clearly still hung up over an ex.

Arthur gave him a wan smile. "Promise me you'll be here tomorrow."

"I promise," Alfred replied, leaning forward to brush his lips against the young man's forehead. "Good night, Artie." He closed the bedroom door behind him and sighed to himself. He wanted to get to know Arthur better. In many ways, he felt like he already knew him in some way. But he reminded himself that it wasn't fair to treat the young man as a substitute for Edward. He had to approach Arthur as his own man.

After calling his friend and cancelling his London plans, Alfred checked on Arthur a little later that night to make sure that he was doing alright. He smiled to find the young man sleeping like a baby, a thin line of drool escaping his mouth.

"You know, Eddie couldn't hold his liquor either," Alfred said fondly to the sleeping Brit. "Lack of tolerance must run in the family, huh?"

Arthur snored softly.

"It worked out well for me, I guess. I don't think he would have crawled into my lap and started kissing me that night we won our first battle if he wasn't plastered. Lucky for us, the others were too passed out drunk to notice." Alfred chuckled.

He glanced around the room, admiring the antique furniture and tasteful decorations. They had the well-worn sheen of objects that had been lovingly passed down through the generations. Arthur wasn't kidding about liking old stuff.

"I wonder if you knew about that side of your grandpa," Alfred mused as he glanced over at the sleeping Englishman. "I loved him. I loved him _so_ much. I just wish I had gotten a chance to tell him that."

Alfred sighed and closed the bedroom door once again. He curled up on the couch, and for the first time in many years, he didn't dream of Edward when he fell asleep.

* * *

><p>The next day, after Arthur had recovered from his hangover, they headed to Stratford-upon-Avon to see the Royal Shakespeare Theatre and Shakespeare's boyhood home. Arthur eschewed the tour guides in favor of delivering his own flavorful account of Shakespeare's life and times. He was such an amazing historian that they attracted a small group of tourists whenever Arthur stopped to deliver another historical tidbit. Alfred didn't care much about such old history, but he listened attentively anyway, admiring the way Arthur's eyes sparkled with delight as he told each tale.<p>

"So you don't believe the folks who think Shakespeare wasn't Shakespeare?" Alfred asked as they walked along the riverfront.

"Their conspiracy theories are pure rubbish," Arthur replied dismissively. "William Shakespeare borrowed heavily from existing literary tradition, yes, but his words were certainly his own."

"What about the theory that multiple people wrote under the same name? You have to admit, the dude wrote a lot of plays."

"Yes, I know there are some Anti-Stratfordians who doubt that one man of middling education and humble origins could have produced so many great works, but I assure you that it was quite possible. Some men are born great, you know," Arthur added with a smirk.

"I love when you get fired up about history," Alfred said with a fond laugh.

Arthur blushed. "I just hate to see people get it wrong," he replied.

Alfred purchased tickets for a retelling of Love's Labour's Lost set in the build-up to World War I. As part of the show, they took a tour backstage. The stagehands explained the details of the lighting, sound, scene changes, and costume changes, while Arthur quietly pointed out the historical inaccuracies. But he admitted that some of the changes, such as replacing candles with electric lighting, provided significant safety benefits. After all, stage fires were the reason why the original Globe Theatre no longer existed.

"It would be more accurate to have us stand during the play," Arthur explained as they took their seats, "but I think I prefer this approach."

"Me too," Alfred agreed. "I just wish they sold popcorn."

"You're ridiculous." Arthur swacked him in the arm and hushed him once the play started. Despite his constant commentary during the tour, Arthur was silent throughout the play. Whenever Alfred glanced over to look at the other man, he saw a rapt face transposed into another era. Alfred wished he could lose himself in the play the same way. Finding it hard to follow the old-timey language, he spent more time watching Arthur than watching the play. The play was beautiful, but Arthur was more so.

Unsurprisingly, the night ended in drinks. This time, at least, the gin and tonics had a little less gin and a little more tonic. Alfred sipped his drink happily as he listened to Arthur complain about modern interpretations of Shakespeare. He felt warm and happy and in love, and he was pretty sure it wasn't just the alcohol.

"Shakespeare would laugh at how his plays are treated as high literature these days," Arthur explained, nearly spilling some of his drink as he waved his hand for emphasis. "They were the crowd pleasers of their time. The cock... blockbusters of Elizabethan English. I damn well bet most English lit teachers would _faint_ if they knew how many dick jokes the Bard stuck in his plays. Hell, at the time even 'wit' was slang for a penis."

"Yeah, you can tell he's a guy who really liked to shake his spear."

"Precisely!"

"You know, I like a guy with a dirty mind." Alfred grinned. "You have a great wit about you, good sir."

Arthur blushed. "That is a terrible pick-up line. If you weren't so attractive, I would tell you to get thee to a nunnery."

"Okay, okay." Alfred leaned forward. "How about this? I want to call you an Artie-fact and handle you carefully."

"God, that's not much better." Arthur chuckled and reached to refill his empty drink. He knocked over the bottle of gin, which landed with a heavy thud on the carpet. He glanced down at the dry carpet in surprise. "Why didn't that spill?" he wondered.

Alfred picked the bottle off the floor and smiled as he shook it. "Prolly 'cause it's already empty," he suggested.

"Oh, well, I've got some scotch somewhere," Arthur said, swaying as he stood up. He walked carefully around the coffee table and ended up passing by Alfred.

"I don't drink I need any more to think," Alfred said as he grabbed Arthur's wrist and pulled him down onto the couch. The Englishman ended up sprawled across his lap, his eyes wide and his mouth tantalizingly close. Alfred kissed him, and for a moment he was Theodore, back in his barracks in 1944, with Edward sprawled across his chest, kissing him furiously and hoping that the chair jammed under the doorknob would be enough to prevent another soldier from interrupting them. He rolled the Englishman onto his back and peppered his neck with kisses as he started to unbutton the other man's shirt. The man beneath him moaned and rolled his hips upward.

Alfred glanced down to see the same half-lidded green eyes staring back at him with need and want, but the face wasn't quite the same. The hair and skin were lighter. Arthur's face had an adorable dusting of freckles. He was gorgeous, but he wasn't Edward.

Feeling an immense sense of guilt, Alfred climbed off the other man and pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. "I'm sorry, Artie, I think we're both too drunk for this."

"It's what you want, though," Arthur retorted. "And you're leaving tomorrow."

"Yeah, but you're his grandson. It's kinda strange."

Arthur sighed and sat up slowly. "That was what the gin was for, you dolt."

"Oh." Alfred rubbed the back of his head in the awkward silence. There had never been anyone serious after Edward, and he was starting to wonder if he had a thing for handsome English guys with green eyes and thick eyebrows.

"Perhaps it's not strange," Arthur said as he stood up and gently draped his arms around Alfred's neck. "Perhaps it's fate."

Alfred let the Englishman kiss him and silently admitted to himself that Arthur's pick-up lines were _way_ better than his. But maybe Arthur was right. Circumstances beyond their control had taken him away from Edward, never to see his lover again. Maybe the universe was apologizing by leading him to Edward's grandson. Absolved of guilt, he began to kiss back as he slipped his hands under Arthur's shirt. The needy moans he elicited from the other man were sinfully delicious.

"Upstairs. My bedroom," Arthur gasped between breathless kisses.

"Gotcha." Alfred slipped a hand below Arthur's knees and swept the man off his feet. What he lacked in pick-up lines, he made up for with literal pick-up moves. Between the buzzing in his head and the hot lips on his neck, he nearly stumbled as he carried the tipsy Englishman up the stairs. But he steadied himself against the rail and managed to not drop Arthur until he reached the man's four-poster bed. Still fully clothed, Arthur writhed against the sheets and gave him an inviting smile.

Alfred checked the dresser drawers as quickly as he could. He nearly fell down in shock when he opened the bottom drawer and discovered a wide collection of sex toys. He whistled in admiration and grabbed the closest bottle of lube. Lavender scented. Nice.

"Dang, Artie. You're way kinkier than you let on," Alfred murmured in appreciation. But there was something missing. "Hey! You got any rubbers?"

"What?" Arthur blinked in confusion. "Why would you need...?"

Alfred didn't want to debate the importance of safe sex. He crossed his arms. "Look, the quicker you tell me the quicker we can get to the fun part."

Arthur shrugged. "In my office. Top desk drawer."

The office was easy enough to find, but no matter how much Alfred looked through the desk drawers he couldn't find a single condom. There were just pens, pencils, and lots of erasers. He paused to wonder why Arthur would even keep condoms in the office. Was it where he had most of his sex? Did he really like getting it on against the wall and on his desk? That was actually pretty kinky too.

"What's taking so long?" Arthur groused as he stumbled through the doorway. He grabbed one of the erasers out of the drawer and held it in front of Alfred's face. "Here's your rubber. Now kindly come back to the bedroom and fuck me."

"That's an eraser, Artie," Alfred explained, wondering how drunk Arthur was to mistake an eraser for a rubber. "I'm looking for a condom."

Arthur blinked and amused understanding dawned on his face. He chuckled as he leaned against Alfred's chest, pressing his warm body close in a distracting manner. "Oh, I forgot Americans called them rubbers. Well, you're out of luck, I'm afraid. I don't have any."

"You fuck strangers and you don't keep condoms around?"

"I don't sleep with strangers," Arthur replied indignantly. His eyes softened as he met Alfred's gaze and he gently tugged on the American's cowlick. "You're not a stranger. This may sound odd, but I feel like I already know you."

"It doesn't sound strange," Alfred confessed as he lifted Arthur onto the desk and continued kissing him as Arthur dangled his legs around Alfred's waist. He had never made love to Edward on a desk, so he could focus on how it was _Arthur's_ tongue in his mouth and _Arthur's _lips planting a hickey on his neck and _Arthur's _shirt that went flying through the air and landed somewhere that wasn't important because all that mattered was that it wasn't covering his lean chest. Arthur was the one making the lusty sounds as Alfred bent him over the desk and pounded his cock between Arthur's smooth thighs. And it was Arthur's cock that he gripped in his hand, pumping him until they both reached a shuddering gasping earthshaking release.

After they finished disheveling Arthur's office and covering his desk in a white, sticky mess, Alfred barely had enough energy left to carry the limp Englishman back to his bed. They collapsed together in a tangle of limbs. Alfred wrapped Arthur in his arms and pulled a blanket over them. He gently brushed his fingers through Arthur's hair as he watched the young man conk out with a satiated smile on his face.

The next morning was nowhere near as awkward as Alfred feared.

He woke up to the sight of brilliant green eyes blinking at him across the pillow, and he murmured the first thing that came to mind. "You're beautiful."

Arthur blushed and shook his head slightly, then winced in pain at the sudden movement. Alfred leaned forward and pressed his lips against Arthur's forehead, hoping to kiss away the pain of the other man's hangover. He then rested his forehead against Arthur's forehead and smiled as their warm breath mingled in the chilly bedroom.

"Will you stay for breakfast?" Arthur asked, his voice whisper quiet.

"Depends," Alfred winked. "Are _you_ on the menu?"

"Oh, god," Arthur groaned. "Your pick-up lines aren't any better when you're sober." But he blushed again and Alfred grinned in delight. He had never realized how attractive a blushing face dappled with freckles could be. Edward had never been much of a blusher. Then again, he had lacked Arthur's pale skin.

They shared Arthur's shower and Alfred remembered how wonderful it was to be young. He could drink heavily and feel almost no ill effects in the morning. And he was always ready for another round of sex.

But as much as he wanted to stay until he had memorized every curve and angle of Arthur's body, he couldn't. He had a plane to catch and a class to teach. Alfred left for his flight with an email address, a phone number, and plans for Arthur to come visit him as soon as he could. This time, Alfred promised himself, he wasn't going to let his handsome Englishman slip away.


	2. Chapter 2

"...and the kids wouldn't stop laughing when they realized that it was _my_ ring tone," Alfred said, smiling into the phone as he slipped the graded homework assignments into his briefcase. His cereal bowl sat forgotten on the kitchen table, nearly empty except for a bit of milk at the bottom.

"Well, they probably expected you to have better taste in music," Arthur said playfully. "By the way, did you see my email?"

"Yep! If you don't mind sticking around the airport for another hour, I can come pick you up after school."

"Actually... if it's not too much trouble, I'd rather like to see your class."

"Really? That would be awesome!" Alfred held the phone between his ear and his shoulder he slipped on his boots and a thick coat. "Want me to dress up like a Catholic school girl so you can spank me for being naughty?"

There was a short intake of breath and then a thoughtful silence on the other end of the line. "I really don't know where you came up with that idea."

"Pfft. Isn't it obvious? I've been reading your books," Alfred teased as he closed and locked the door to his apartment behind him. "It gives me something to think about when you're not around. Can't blame a guy for wanting some release."

"Well, I can blame you for being tardy. Shouldn't you be heading off to work?"

Alfred laughed. "Already on my way. See you in eight hours!"

"See you soon," Arthur promised.

Alfred sighed happily as he drove the short distance to his school. It had taken less than two weeks for Arthur to make arrangements to visit him, but even that short wait had been unbearable. They talked on the phone as often as they could, discussing everything from embarrassing childhood memories to their favorite ways to spend a rainy day. Despite their many differences, Alfred felt a deep connection to the other man. In all of his lives, he had never fallen in love so hard and so quickly.

Not since Edward.

Unfortunately, thinking about his former English lover left a queasy feeling in Alfred's stomach as he walked into his classroom and began preparing for the day. He still felt guilty for moving on, and then he felt ridiculous for feeling guilty.

He also began to worry about what would happen if Arthur wanted to meet his family. During all of their discussions about Edward's and Theodore's lives after the end of the war, neither of them had mentioned any wives or children.

There was a reason for that. Alfred wasn't sure how he was going to explain that Theodore wasn't _actually_ his grandfather. It had been an easy lie when he had decided to go visit the grave, a quick way to explain why he was so interested in Edward Wright's life. But now that Arthur was coming to visit... he wasn't sure what to do if the other man discovered the lack of family connection.

Despite his concern for maintaining the lie about his 'grandfather', Alfred couldn't help but spend the day filled with giddy happiness. He would have Arthur in his arms again!

The last class before Thanksgiving break should have been torture for both Alfred and his students. Many teachers, recognizing a pedagogical sink pool, decided to show movies to their restless students. Alfred, however, made the time fly by choosing a topic close to his heart. As class began, he wrote a single phrase on the blackboard:

_I only regret, that I have but one life to lose for my country._

He turned and grinned at the class. They stared at him with rapt attention. Alfred, with his good looks and easy smiles, never had trouble reeling students in with his charisma and keeping them intrigued with his obvious love for the material.

"Can anyone tell me the source of this quote?" he asked.

"Nathan Hale," someone suggested from the back of the room.

"That's a good answer!" Alfred's grin widened. "But I'm going to spend this class explaining why it's probably not the _right_ answer. You see, this particular quote was first credited to Nathan Hale in Captain William Hull's memoirs, which were published 72 years _after_ Nathan Hale was executed for being a Revolutionary War spy hero. That would be like trying to pin down FDR's last words based on something published today."

The class followed along eagerly as Alfred described all of the various sources that described Nathan Hale's final words, writing each version up on the board as he explained to the students why some sources were more credible than others.

"What did he _look_ like?" a girl asked eagerly.

Alfred smiled. "We don't really know. Blond hair, blue eyes. Fairly tall. I imagine he was handsome. He was a schoolteacher after he graduated from Yale at the age of 18."

A few girls sighed and Alfred resumed his lecture. About halfway through, he heard the door open. Alfred turned around and beamed when he saw Arthur step hesitantly into the room. "Hey, Artie! Just take one of the seats in back. We've got about 20 minutes left to solve one of history's mysteries."

He returned to the blackboard and scrawled another quote in chalk.

_What pity is it that we can die but once to serve our country._

"Now, here's another clue. See, this quote is from a famous English play called 'Cato' written in 1712. It was very popular among patriots during the revolution because it's all about resisting tyranny. In fact, George Washington had it performed for his army while they were camped at Valley Forge. And we know that Nathan Hale had seen the play because he mentioned it in some of his letters to his brother. I would bet dollars to donuts that he was referencing this line, and I'm sure many people listening recognized it."

Alfred turned around and paused for dramatic effect. His smile widened when he noticed Arthur watching him from the back of the room with equally rapt attention.

"So what does this all mean? Well, I know I stand up here all day telling you dates and names and locations, but you should spend some time thinking about _how_ we know what we claim to know. History is like playing a game of telephone across time, trying to figure out which facts might have gotten distorted along the way."

He glanced over at the clock and blinked in surprise when he realized he had less than a minute of class time remaining. "Anyway, have a great Thanksgiving! Your only homework for Monday is to pick a historical figure and come up with some awesome final words for him or her. We'll vote and the winner gets a prize."

The students chattered happily to themselves, streaming out of the classroom as soon as the bell rang. Alfred passed by them to reach the back seats. As soon as Arthur stood up to greet him, he pulled the Englishman into a tight hug. In their warm embrace, he could feel Arthur's tense shoulders began to relax. It felt so good to hold Arthur again. After another moment, they drew back and gave each other fond looks.

"Bit of a morbid assignment, isn't it?" Arthur chuckled.

"Yeah, but it'll give them something historical to do over break that doesn't feel too much like homework."

"Mr. Jones?" a voice interrupted from behind and Alfred turned around to see a tall brunette watching him and Arthur with a sly smile. "The school newspaper wants to publish articles on all of the teachers and I was wondering if I could do you."

Arthur coughed while Alfred continued to smile, oblivious to the innuendo. "Have you written articles on anyone else yet?" he asked.

"No." She shook her head. "I wanted you to be my first."

Arthur's coughing fit intensified.

"Sorry, Liz. I'm a little busy this weekend, but let me know when you've published a few other articles and I'll think about."

She sighed and turned to look at Arthur. "Are you a new teacher, Mr...?"

"Kirkland," he replied, finally gaining control over his flustered coughs. "And no, I'm just here for a brief visit."

"Yep!" Alfred chimed in. "I'm showing him the World War II monument and Arlington Cemetery. Our grandpas fought together in the war."

Liz's eyes widened. "Oh my gosh, that sounds like an amazing article. Please, Mr. Jones! Let me write about you two and your soldier grandfathers."

Arthur quickly shook his head; he looked surprisingly worried about the simple request. "Oh, no, I really don't have the time."

"I wouldn't need much," she begged. "Just ten minutes right now?"

"I really couldn't."

"Please?"

"Lizzie, some people don't like talking about that sort of thing, and you've just got to respect that," Alfred said gently, moving to stand between her and Arthur. He knew from their conversations that Arthur was a deeply private person, and he didn't want the poor man to be overwhelmed by Liz's journalistic gung-ho.

"Fine." Glancing between Alfred's stern gaze and Arthur's worried expression, she sighed and left the room with a dejected slump to her shoulders.

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. "My, she's certainly persistent. And I think she's rather sweet on you," he added, carrying his duffel bag to the front of the room while he waited for Alfred to gather up his coat and briefcase.

"Nah," Alfred laughed. "Liz is also the vice president of the GSA. She likes to ask me if I have a boyfriend and if I need help finding one."

"I hope you tell her no."

"Well _now_ I do," Alfred replied, taking Arthur's bag and slipping his arm into the crook of Arthur's elbow. Arthur blushed, but he didn't protest.

As they walked outside in the cool November air, Alfred reveled in the warm contact he felt from walking side by side. Every where they touched, his skin grew hot and tingly. And even though he fully intended to show Arthur the sights, he could tell from Arthur's heavy-lidded glances that they would be spending the rest of the evening in his apartment.

* * *

><p>"<em>Ah<em>..." Alfred writhed in pleasure on the bed, gasping each time Arthur popped out another bead. He gripped the sheets and moaned as the last and largest bead slipped through his sphincter, sending a wave of delirious bliss through his body. He was grateful that Arthur had decided to bring along some of his sex toys, although he wondered what airport security had thought of the anal beads. Hopefully they didn't recognize them.

"Ready?" Arthur murmured, the Englishman's breath hot and heavy as he pressed his mouth against Alfred's ear.

"Two whole weeks," Alfred groaned as he snaked around and rolled on top of Arthur. "Of course I'm ready!" He pinned the other man against the bed, covering his chest with kisses. He worked his way up and down the toned chest, twisting Arthur's nipples in his mouth as he straddled the man's slender hips.

"I... _oHHhh_... rubbers in my pocket."

Understanding the message despite the incoherent moans, Alfred stretched to reach Arthur's discarded trousers. He pulled the condom from the back pocket and ripped the package open with his teeth. Rolling it on to the Englishmen's erect cock, he pumped his hand up and down to coat the latex with a thick layer of lube.

Arthur watched him with heavily-lidded eyes. "How do you want...?"

"Just like this," Alfred purred, positioning himself above Arthur's hips. His eyelashes fluttered and he moaned as he lowered himself onto the wonderfully thick cock. The slight burning sensation paled in comparison to the heady feeling of being completely _full_. He paused to adjust to the stretch, taking the time to admire Arthur's flushed red cheeks. The Brit's mouth opened and closed with breathless pants, the lust coursing through his body was clearly enough to rob him of his eloquent words.

After adjusting to Arthur's girth, Alfred began to move, grinding up and down on Arthur's hips. He shuddered as he hit his sweet spot again and again, feeling Arthur's hips roll up to meet him halfway. The sounds of moans and breathless names filled the room and their rhythm grew harsher and more ragged, driving them both to the heights of ecstasy.

"God! _Alfred_!" Arthur cried out, as his body shuddered and went limp. Feeling the cock pulse inside of him, Alfred came a moment later, gasping out Arthur's name as he collapsed against his chest.

When the haze of pleasure ebbed long enough for rational thought to return, Alfred lifted his weight off the other man's body. As he raised himself up on his elbows, he noticed that Arthur wasn't responding to his movements. Alfred brushed Arthur's blond hair to the side and gave him a look of concern. "Artie? You okay?"

The Englishman's mouth hung open and his head lay where it had lolled to the side of the pillow. Alfred gently gripped Arthur's chin and moved his head back to the center of the pillow, as he waited for the other man to stir. He didn't have long to wait. Green eyes flickered open and Arthur gave him a relaxed grin.

"How you feeling?" Alfred asked.

The eyes blinked lazily. "Fine."

"Just fine?"

"Mmm... wonderful, really."

"I think you passed out for a second there."

"Oh?" Arthur mumbled.

"Do I need to call an ambulance?"

"No," Arthur shook his head as his eyes began to look less glazed. "I'm fine. Let's just say there's a reason 'die' was a Shakespearean euphemism for orgasm."

"If you're sure." Alfred laughed and shook his head fondly. "Do you always give literary lessons after sex?"

"Only if the need arises," Arthur mumbled, letting his head fall back onto the soft pillow as he closed his eyes.

Alfred laughed again and plopped back down onto the bed. After two weeks of waiting, it had been everything he had wanted and more. He couldn't wait to have another go. "Hey, speaking of _need_ rising, do you think the kitchen table next or the bay window?"

A snore from Arthur's open mouth was his only response.

"...or I guess you might be tired from your flight." Giving the Englishman another kiss, Alfred wrapped Arthur into his arms and pulled a blanket over their naked bodies. The cuddling was also nice, and he smiled happily as sleep claimed them both.

* * *

><p>Alfred would have been happy to spend the entire holiday in bed with Arthur, but he <em>had<em> promised to show the Brit some of the sights. And going out into the cold weather would give them a reason later to do something to get warmed up again. Not that either of them needed an excuse. As they arrived at the hallowed grounds of Arlington Cemetery, Alfred tried to keep the dirty thoughts out of his head.

Despite its ties to the Civil War, Thanksgiving wasn't a traditional holiday for honoring the deceased, so Alfred and Arthur had the cemetery almost entirely to themselves. This time at least, Alfred didn't have any trouble finding this grave. He had been there before. And in a sense, he was still there now. He tried not to think about it.

They walked in silence past the grey headstones lined up in perfect rows. The brown trees and cloudy skies added to the somber atmosphere.

Alfred stopped in front of the grave marked 'Theodore Wilson' and watched as Arthur placed a rose in front of the headstone. The Englishman then reached into his coat pocket and set a small box next to the marker as well.

It was a pack of Chesterfield cigarettes. Recognizing the brand, Alfred felt a chill run down his spine. He remembered Edward snatching a pack out of his rations just before battle. 'Hey, those are mine!' he had protested. Edward had smirked at him. 'Make it back alive, lad, and I'll consider returning them.' It had ended up being the final battle that their regiments fought together. He had never seen Edward, or his cigarettes, again.

Alfred was still staring at the cigarettes when Arthur finally stood up and turned around. The Englishman noticed his expression and smiled apologetically. "Just keeping an old promise," he explained.

"I'm... I'm sure he would have liked that," Alfred replied, trying not to choke up as he remembered all of the fruitless years he spent wondering what had happened to Edward.

They stepped closer together as the wind picked up, blowing gusts of leaves across the graveyard. "Nineteen years," Arthur said, staring at the gravestone as he did the math. "You must miss him terribly."

"Yeah." It was true, in a sense. Of all his lives, Theo's had been his favorite.

"Time never erases the grief," Arthur replied, his gaze focused on the distant horizon. "But I feel like they never truly leave us, not so long as we remember them."

Alfred turned his head towards Arthur. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes, and he will _always_ be remembered."

Alfred felt Arthur's hand grasp his, and it filled him with warmth. It was a nice way to think about his time with Edward. It had been far too short, but at least Edward would attain a sort of immortality through the American's memories. After a moment of silence, they walked together hand-in-hand to the edge of the cemetery. Alfred was glad he had Arthur by his side. He had never liked graveyards or ghosts. He was always worried that the people who only lived once would despise him for his multiple lives.

In the spirit of the season, he squeezed Arthur's hand and smiled at the Brit. "I'm so thankful that I met you."

Arthur returned his smile with equal warmth. "Me too."

At that point, climbing into bed together wasn't a matter of warming up. It was a way to express the warmth he already felt in the center of his chest.

* * *

><p>Alfred's extremely pleasant mood the next morning lasted until he checked his email and noticed one from Liz with the subject line 'Arthur Kirkland.'<p>

He was tempted to skip it, but curiosity got the better of him. The email itself was remarkably short. Just a simple 'I think you should read this,' followed by a link to a newspaper article from five years earlier.

TEEN CLAIMS SOLDIER'S FORTUNE

The article described how Arthur Kirkland, then 18, had stepped forward to claim the fortune of a life-long bachelor and World War Two veteran named Edward Wright. Although no one knew the precise details of the soldier's bequest, his solicitor confirmed that the teenager had satisfied the rather peculiar requirements by arriving at his office on a date set in Edward's will and delivering the correct pass-phrase. Arthur had ignored all requests for interviews and set about living the life of a reclusive writer.

Alfred stared at his screen in silence. He read the article twice more, wondering if the words would change into something he could understand. But the truth remained the same. Arthur wasn't related to Edward Wright. He had never even met the man, if the article was to be believed. Alfred felt so angry at himself for being taken in by a sophisticated fraud.

He confronted Arthur in his kitchen. "Why didn't you tell me that Edward Wright wasn't your grandfather?" he demanded, balling his hands into fists.

Arthur blanched and some of his tea splashed onto the table as he set down the cup with a heavy thud. Despite his pale face and worried eyes, his tone was calm when he replied, "I never said that he was."

"That's a shit answer and you know it!"

"You're one to talk. How old were you when your grandfather died?" Arthur scowled at him. "How could you possibly know him as well as you say you do?"

"I..." Alfred floundered for something to say.

Arthur pressed his hands flat against the table as he stood up. "And I don't appreciate you snooping around in my personal life."

"I think I have a right to know who I'm sleeping with."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before you slept with me!" Arthur shouted. "You don't know... I'm not..." His shoulders slumped as he squeezed his eyes shut, the anger on his face suddenly replaced with sadness. "I'm sorry, Alfred."

Alfred stared dumbly, feeling a sense of guilt wash over him. The gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach reminded him that he didn't have the right to be mad at Arthur when he had also lied. He tried to think of something to say, some way to explain his own lies and omissions without going into the unbelievable details of his past lives. The last time he had told the truth, they had threatened to send him to a mental institution.

"Goodbye, Alfred," Arthur said, brushing past him before he could open his mouth to speak.

"Wait!" Alfred chased after the Englishman, catching him as he pulled on his coat at the apartment door. "Where are you going?"

Arthur yanked his arm out of Alfred's grasp. "I'm getting a hotel room. And a drink," was his only explanation as he walked out the door.

Barefoot and still in his pajamas, Alfred nevertheless followed him. He made it only a few feet onto the frozen sidewalk before realizing that he _really_ needed his shoes if he wanted to race after the Englishman. Unfortunately, by the time he had found them and pulled them on, Arthur was out of sight.

Alfred tried calling Arthur's phone and checking the local drinking holes, but it wasn't until hours later that he received a call back.

"Arthur?" he said, picking up the phone with a sigh of relief.

A woman's voice responded. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm calling from St. Elizabeth's Hospital. Could I ask your relationship to Mr. Kirkland?"

Alfred felt his stomach drop to the floor. If the hospital was calling, it had to be serious. And if they were getting contact information from Arthur's phone, instead of Arthur himself, that meant that Arthur was unconscious. If he wanted information, he needed to pretend to be a relative. "Artie's my step-brother," he lied, feeling his throat go dry. "He's visiting me in D.C. this weekend. Is he okay?"

"I'm afraid he's in critical condition," she replied, giving him the hospital location and Arthur's room number. "Come quickly."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

'Die' is an Elizabethan euphemism for 'to orgasm'. Which makes Juliet's final words pretty interesting: "O happy dagger, this is thy sheath. There rust and let me die." Especially when you know that a dagger is a symbol for a penis and the word vagina literally means sheath in Latin. This is why I'm always so amused that we cover Romeo & Juliet in middle school.

Anyway, one more chapter left to find out if 'Arthur dies' is going to be a euphemism in this story or not ;)


	3. Chapter 3

The hospital was a crowded, unhappy place, filled with the sounds of beeping machines and the smell of disinfectant. Shouting men and women in white coats rushed past Alfred, making him jump back against the beige walls. He hated hospitals so much, especially after his last two deaths. The sooner he could get Arthur out of the nasty place, the better.

Oblivious to Alfred's frown, the orderly continued talking as he led the way to Arthur's room. "Hit and run," he explained as they dodged several nurses headed to the emergency room.

"Did they catch the driver?" Alfred demanded. Because if they didn't... he was going to personally hunt that person down and make them pay.

"I don't know. I'll let you know if I find out."

Alfred nodded his head. "Thanks."

"The room is just up ahead..." the orderly began to say, before he was interrupted by loud shouting.

Recognizing the sound of an angry Brit, Alfred started running. He dashed through the doorway and his jaw dropped when he saw Arthur in a skimpy hospital gown wielding his floor-lamp against a doctor and a nurse. "Away you moldy rogues, away!" the Englishman shouted in a lilting accent as he whirled the lamp in a circle to keep everyone away from him.

The nurse jumped back with a look of dismay, retreating closer to the door. "He woke up ten minutes ago and he's been cussing us out in ye olde English ever since," she explained with an exasperated sigh. "Mr. Kirkland, if you keep threatening us, our psychologist will have to evaluate you."

"An ignorant clotpole," Arthur scoffed.

"That's it. I'm going to fetch him," the nurse huffed as she left the room. "This one is a complete nutcase!"

"Would thou wert clean enough to spit upon!" Arthur shouted after her.

Alfred stepped between them and held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Whoa, Artie! Don't be so harsh. They're just trying to help," he said soothingly. He could understand why the accident had left Arthur in a foul temper, but the old-fashioned insults were a surprise.

"Thou art a familiar fellow," Arthur replied as he gave Alfred a confused look.

"Who is this?" the doctor demanded at the same time, walking toward Alfred with a stern expression. "I thought you said you weren't able to get in touch with next of kin?"

As Arthur continued to watch them warily, the stepped out into the hallway for a brief chat.

"This is the patient's step-brother," the orderly explained, pointing to Alfred's visitor's pass. "We found his contact info in the patient's phone."

"Oh, thank goodness." The doctor turned toward Alfred. "Maybe you can convince your brother to agree to this surgery. We think he's suffering from a subdural hematoma―too much pressure in his brain. A ventriculostomy would relieve the pressure, but we need his consent before we can operate."

"He's not crazy, you know," Alfred said as peeked through the doorway to get another look at Arthur. "I think he's talking like Shakespeare because he studies the guy."

"Doctor, the psychologist will be here in half an hour," the nurse interrupted. "Are you sure you don't want me to hook up the sedation now?"

"No, it's not worth the risk of him injuring himself while he fights you. The psychologist might have better luck," she suggested as she checked her buzzing pager.

Alfred's eyes widened. "Wait. You're just gonna leave? What if something happens?"

The doctor sighed. "The hospital lawyers inform me that I can't force him to undergo the surgery unless it's emergency. So I'm afraid there's nothing I can do until he says yes or a psychologist declares him incompetent. Now, if you'll excuse me..." Busy with the needs of other patients, she pushed past Alfred. A few moments later the orderly rushed off to deal with another crisis, leaving him alone with the nurse.

"You know, if you want to talk some sense into him, you're certainly welcome to try. I can wait out here," the nurse suggested, probably hoping for an excuse to avoid another confrontation with Arthur.

"Thanks," Alfred nodded, "I think I will."

Alfred wasn't sure what he expected when he stepped back into the room, but he wasn't ready for the distrustful look in Arthur's eyes and the bruises covering Arthur's pale face. As he noticed the splint on Arthur's right arm, he felt sick to stomach. It was his fault that Arthur had left in a huff. It was his fault that Arthur had gotten hurt. This was _all_ his fault.

"I'm so sorry, Arthur," he murmured. He wanted to take back every angry word. He wished he had never read that damned article in the first place.

"William," the Englishman protested.

"William?" Alfred asked.

"Tis my name," Arthur replied. "Who art thou?"

"I'm Alfred. Guess you don't recognize me, huh?"

"No," the injured man shook his head. "Thy speech is peculiar."

Alfred felt a ghost of a smile cross his face. "I could say the same for you," he replied. But something about the name combined with the old-fashioned speech tickled at the back of his brain. The words sounded like the Shakespearean play he had attended with Arthur. Alfred paled. What if his lover wasn't just talking like Shakespeare, what if he thought he _was_ William Shakespeare? It would mean that he must have hit his head very hard indeed.

"They called thou... my kinsman?" Arthur's brows knitted together as he slowly set down the lamp. "Forsooth, I do not _feel_ brotherly toward thou."

"Good." Alfred smiled back seductively. "I just said that so they would let me in." He tried to push away the feelings of guilt, and focused instead on figuring out a way to make Arthur agree to the surgery. The way Arthur sucked in a breath and looked at him with obvious interest gave Alfred hope. Sure, the Englishman might have lost his memories, but it seemed that his taste in men hadn't changed. He took a few steps closer, until he was standing next to Arthur and the bed. If he didn't have Arthur's trust, at least he could count on lust.

"I do not trust these madmen," Arthur confided. "They seek to poison me."

"Uh-huh." Given how bad doctors were at healing people in Elizabethan times, Alfred somehow wasn't surprised. As he glanced past the Englishman, he spotted the IV bag filled with sedatives positioned near the bed frame. A plan began to form in his head. If he could get Arthur on the bed and distract him, it would be easy to connect the drip. With a renewed sense of determination, Alfred leaned in until his face was nearly touching Arthur's. "You can trust me."

"We art... close?"

"Very close," Alfred murmured, resting his forehead against Arthur's. "It's like that sonnet you like. The one about having a wish, and a 'will,' and making your willie bigger."

Arthur blushed. "Whoever hath his wish, thou hast thy Will, And Will to boot, and Will in overplus," he replied, his eyes widening when Alfred laid a hand against his chest. "More than enough am I, that vex thee still," Arthur continued, his voice shuddering as Alfred's finger glided down his chest, "to thy sweet will," until it reached his groin, "making addition thus," and reached beneath Arthur's hospital gown.

As Arthur arched into his touch, Alfred closed the tiny distance between them, kissing softly and careful not to brush against any of the bruises on the other man's face or body. After a tense moment, he felt Arthur respond, pressing against his lips and slowly melting in his arms. Alfred forgot about their argument and Arthur's injuries. For a few, warm, happy seconds, it was enough just to have the Englishman in his arms.

As he pressed another breathless kiss against Arthur's lips, he reminded himself of the seriousness of Arthur's condition. He gently scooped up the other man, despite Arthur's indignant squawk, and lowered him onto the hospital bed.

"Ah! My arm," Arthur gasped in pain, holding the splint against his body.

"Sorry, sorry! Look, I can make the pain go away," Alfred promised, holding up the end of the IV sedation line. "Do you trust me?"

A brief flicker of recognition crossed Arthur's face. After another moment, he nodded hesitantly. He bit his lip when Alfred hooked up the line, but his expression relaxed as Alfred leaned over to give him another kiss. Alfred could feel the sweet kisses grow slower and gentler as the drug began to take effect.

"No," Arthur suddenly whispered, struggling to keep his eyes open. The hurt and betrayal in his gaze felt like a stab in Alfred's gut. Arthur kept glaring, even as his eyes drooped. "Poison! Thou perjur'd... false... dis... uh..." his voice slowly faded and his head fell back onto the pillow.

"I'm sorry, Artie," Alfred murmured as he unhooked the drip and hit the distress button on the side of the bed.

The nurse gave Alfred a look of sly approval as she rushed into the room. "Trust me, you did him a big favor," she murmured under her breath.

Moments later, more doctors and nurses flooded into the room. Alfred pressed his back against the window and watched the chaos unfold, praying to himself that Arthur would make it through the surgery. Just as Alfred had planned, the doctors and nurses conferred over the unconscious man and wheeled him away to the operating room.

Once the room was empty, Alfred sank into the visitor's chair and stared at the white hospital walls in weary silence. No matter how many times he lived, he never got used to watching the people he loved in pain. To avoid falling into a deep depression, he tried to focus on living in the moment, but sometimes it was hard. Terrified about what might happen to Arthur, he buried his head in his hands and sobbed. He couldn't lose Arthur! Not when he had just found him.

When Alfred's tears finally dried, he took some consolation in thinking about what Arthur had said to him in the cemetery:

_They never truly leave us, not so long as we remember them._

He swore he would always remember Arthur. He just hoped and prayed that they would have more time.

* * *

><p>Alfred was drinking a cup of coffee an hour later when the nurses wheeled Arthur back into the hospital room. He jumped to his feet and his heart leapt to see Arthur breathing gently. "Is he gonna be okay?" he asked desperately.<p>

"The operation was a success," one nurse replied with a comforting smile. "We'll need to monitor him a few more days. Now the biggest threats are infection and overdraining."

Alfred sagged with relief next to the bed. He reached to hold Arthur's hand as he waited for the Englishman to wake up from his sedation. He hoped that Arthur would regain his memories. He just hoped that Arthur wasn't upset about his IV drip trick.

"How you feeling, Artie?" he asked. "Do you remember who you are now?"

The unconscious man didn't respond, but that didn't stop Alfred from keeping up a constant stream of chatter. If there was any chance Arthur could hear him, he wanted the Englishman to know that he was by his side.

After another hour, as his voice grew hoarse from talking, Alfred looked up to see an orderly and a security guard enter the room. The stern looks on their faces made his stomach drop to the floor. "What is it? What's wrong?" he rasped.

The guard stepped closer and glared at Alfred. "Sir, we're going to have to ask you to leave. You're not authorized to be here."

Alfred gaped. "What? But I've got my visitor's pass and everything!"

"We were finally able to reach the patient's parents," the orderly explained. "And they informed us that the patient doesn't have a step-brother."

"Oh..." Alfred gave them a sheepish grin. "Sorry, I just said that so I could stay with my fiancé. I've heard of folks having trouble, you know."

The guard and orderly gave him equally unimpressed looks.

"Why do I get the feeling that this is a very sudden engagement?" one asked.

"Probably the lack of engagement rings," the other replied.

Alfred tried to keep his expression calm as he panicked inside. "Hey, we didn't go for engagement rings. Arthur thinks they're hokey."

The orderly shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir, we don't let anyone other than spouses or family stay in the room after surgery. You can visit the patient during visitor's hours, just like everyone else."

"You can't make me leave," Alfred begged. "I've got to be here when he wakes up."

The guard crossed his arms. "Sir, we will remove you forcibly, and we will prohibit you from returning to the hospital again."

Recognizing a lost cause, Alfred sighed and turned back toward Arthur. "Hold in there, Artie. I'll see you again as soon as I can," he promised as he gave his lover's hand one last squeeze. He lowered the hand until it was resting comfortably by Arthur's side and blinked away the tears welling in his eyes. "Do you... do you mind if I write him a note? I want him to know that I was here."

"I don't have time for dawdling," the guard replied.

"Christ, Jerry, don't be an asshole." The orderly handed Alfred a pen and a scrap of paper. "Here, just be quick about it."

Alfred scrawled the first things that came to mind. _Arthur, I love you. Please be okay. They kicked me out, but I'll be back as soon as I can. _After another moment's thought, he added one more message. _P.S. Don't tell the psychologist that you're William Shakespeare or they'll think you're bonkers. Love, Alfred._

With great reluctance, he followed the orderly to the exit. Visitor's hours didn't start until the next morning, so his only option was to go home and try to sleep... if he could.

(He couldn't.)

* * *

><p>The hospital was a calmer place in the early morning hours. Carrying a half-dozen roses, Alfred arrived bright and early at the front reception desk, only to discover that the staff still wouldn't let him visit Arthur.<p>

"What happened? Is he okay?" he demanded, gnawing his lip with worry.

The receptionist gave him a sympathetic look. "Look, I'm not supposed to be telling you this, but he's suffering from severe memory loss. We're not supposed to let _anyone_ in to see him until the doctors examine him again and he has a chance to talk with his parents."

Alfred was overjoyed that Arthur had woken up; as soon as he finished jumping for joy, he began begging and pleading for a chance to see his lover. "He might remember _me_," he suggested. He was positive that he would be able to spark Arthur's memories if only he could talk with the other man. Unfortunately, his puppy-dog eyes proved ineffective against the rigid hospital bureaucracy.

So Alfred sat in the waiting room, and he waited, and he waited.

And he waited, and he waited, and he waited.

And he waited some more.

He played with his phone until the battery died and then switched to watching the other people in the waiting room. They mostly wore the same grim, determined expression that he did. After all, each of them knew that there was nothing they could actually do other than hope for the best, but that didn't stop them from staying nearby, as if their presence might make a difference between life and death.

Alfred's thoughts constantly circled back to Arthur. He wondered if the memory loss would be temporary. He wondered if it would be hard to reestablish their easy rapport. He wondered if Arthur still thought he was William Shakespeare.

After six of the most excruciating hours of Alfred's lives, the receptionist finally called him to the front of the room. "Mr. Jones? He's ready to see you now."

"Finally!" Alfred leapt out of his seat with a burst of joy. He grabbed his bouquet of roses and followed the receptionist eagerly, stepping on her heels a few times when she walked too slowly for his tastes. But he faltered as she left him at the entrance to Arthur's room, suddenly concerned about what would happen if Arthur_ didn't_ recognize him.

He sidled into the room with uncharacteristic timidity. His entrance was quiet enough that the room's occupant didn't even notice his presence at first. Arthur was sitting on the bed, staring at a tablet as he talked with an older couple on the screen. They both looked haggard and worried. The woman leaned closer and bit her lip. "Are you sure you don't remember your cousin Peter? You tried to sell him on eBay once."

"No." Arthur sighed. "It sounds like I don't like Peter."

"What year was the Norman invasion of England?" the man asked.

"1066."

"And when was the Magna Carta signed?"

"1215, at a field near Runnymede."

The man shook his head in dismay. "It's the darnedest thing. All sorts of facts and dates, but he doesn't know his own birthday."

"What about Uncle Gilbert? Do you remember that time he tried to eat your scones?" the woman asked. When Arthur shook his head, she sighed. "Has your visitor arrived yet, darling? The receptionist mentioned that someone was waiting to see you."

Time slowed down as Arthur turned to look toward the doorway. Alfred noticed the way that Arthur's hair splayed out in every direction, even messier than usual because he didn't have his comb. He noticed how tightly Arthur's hand gripped the sheets, the way he always did when he was worried and trying to hide it. And last of all, he noticed the beautiful flash of recognition that filled Arthur's brilliant green eyes.

"I _know_ you," Arthur breathed, a gorgeous smile spreading across his face. Alfred opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut short by a shake of Arthur's head. "No, don't say anything. I want to prove that I recognize you."

Alfred nodded and stayed silent.

"You're American."

With a grin, Alfred nodded again.

"You're scared of ghosts."

Alfred flushed, but he nodded anyway. As much as he hated to admit it, it was true.

"Your favorite brand is Chesterfields!"

With a slight frown, Alfred shook his head. "No, I don't smoke. You're probably thinking of the pack you left for Theodore."

"Wait. You aren't...?" Arthur closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "I'm sorry, I suppose I don't know you after all."

"Did you say that he's a smoker?" Arthur's mother demanded. "Is he in a gang? I don't want my sweet little boy dating a smoker."

"_Mum_." Arthur turned back to the screen with a distracted expression. "Sorry, Mum, Dad. I'll talk to you later," he told his parents as he powered off the tablet.

Once Arthur finished putting it away Alfred walked over to the bed and handed him the bouquet of flowers. It was nice to see a happy expression briefly return to Arthur's face as he sniffed the roses, even though the look of recognition was gone. Alfred sat down in the chair and gave Arthur a wan smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, other than the gaping hole where my memories used to be, I feel about as well as you would expect after being hit by a truck."

Alfred winced. "Geez, Artie. I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault." Arthur pursed his lips as he continued staring at Alfred. "Who are you to me? One nurse called you my stepbrother, and another said you were my fiancé. I'm hoping that they're not both correct."

"No." Alfred chuckled. "I said a lot of things to try and stay with you, not that any of it worked. I'm not either, actually. We're... dating, I guess."

"Dating..." Arthur rubbed his chin and gave him a thoughtful glance. "In that case, I think I'm going to need to spend more time getting to know you. Perhaps it will help me reclaim my memories."

Alfred grinned. Even if he didn't have his memories, this was definitely his Arthur. "Yeah. I think that's worth a try."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

Time for the Shakespeare lesson of the day! 'Will' can mean either male or female genitalia, which adds a lot of potential jokes for a writer as skilled as _William_ Shakespeare. That sonnet Arthur is quoting basically says "Your penis is very large and I'm going to give you such a boner."


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred watched Arthur carefully as he led the Englishman to his car in the hospital parking lot. The hospital had offered to lend them a wheelchair, but Arthur was too proud. He wouldn't even let Alfred hold his hand as they crossed the street.

"You don't need to mollycoddle me," Arthur said with a roll of his eyes. "I feel fine."

"Come on, they drilled a hole in your head and stuck a band aid on it! I think I'm allowed to be a little worried," Alfred replied, pushing the button on his keychain to unlock the car doors. He waited until Arthur had buckled in before starting the ignition.

Even though he turned up the heat, the air in the car seemed a little chilly and Alfred wondered what he was doing wrong. The doctors agreed that spending time with familiar people might trigger memories, so that's why Alfred spent every waking hour in Arthur's presence. Sure enough, Arthur's memories from before the accident had begun to filter back, but Arthur was still acting strangely. He was more cautious, more suspicious, and more secretive. It made Alfred wonder if the accident had changed his personality in addition to damaging his memories.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Alfred watched Arthur fiddle with the radio station. The Englishman had some trouble with the technology, but managed to land on a golden oldies station playing a Glen Miller song from WW2. Alfred smiled to himself, amused that Arthur's taste in music was nearly as old-fashioned as his taste in plays.

"Here we are," Alfred announced as he parked in front of his apartment. "Don't expect too much. I have to pay for this on a schoolteacher's salary."

Arthur nodded absent-mindedly as he followed him through the front door. Alfred had cleaned up a bit before Arthur first arrived, but things had gotten cluttered again in the past few days. He hoped that Arthur didn't mind the pile of mail. Or the pile of dirty clothes. Or the pile of dishes. Geez, he had a lot of piles.

"Anything look familiar?" Alfred asked hopefully as he gave Arthur a quick tour of the apartment. The small living room and even tinier bedroom didn't draw a response, but the kitchen did. The Englishman's expression lit up when he spotted a box of tea on the kitchen counter. After listening to Arthur complain about the hospital's crappy tea, Alfred wasn't surprised to see his delight at the high-end tea. It had been pricey, but it was worth it to see Arthur's soft smile again.

"My favorite brand," Arthur murmured, smiling as he opened the box.

"Yeah, you grabbed it and the kettle at the grocery store after I suggested heating your water in the microwave," Alfred explained as he filled up his brand-new electric kettle. His grin widened when Arthur gave him a scandalized look.

"The _microwave_?!"

"You know, that's the exact same expression you wore the first time too."

"I should hope so," Arthur sniffed. He took a seat at the small kitchen table and pushed some of the mail to the side to make room for his mug. "A microwave, _honestly_."

"Hey, you don't date me for my tea-making skills," Alfred teased as he waited for the water to finish boiling.

"Oh?" Arthur smirked. "What _do_ I date you for?"

"I think you know the answer to that one, but I can show you tonight if you want," Alfred offered as he filled Arthur's mug with boiling water. He winked and took the only other seat at the kitchen table. They sat close enough to bump knees underneath the small table.

"Well... perhaps." Although Arthur tried to look dignified as he waited for his tea to cool, his red cheeks betrayed him.

Alfred grinned. _This_ was the Arthur he remembered. The one who used sarcastic quips as a defense mechanism, like prickly thorns on a blushing pink rose. The one who brought warmth and comfort with his simple presence. The one who made him feel like he had regained a lost part of himself. Alfred shook his head fondly. "You're still you."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Who _else_ would I be?"

"I dunno. You thought you were William Shakespeare for a while there."

"What?" Arthur blanched and his eyes widened. His hand shook as he lowered his cup to the table. Swaying backward in his chair, he looked like he might faint.

Shocked by Arthur's sudden pallor, Alfred leapt out of his chair and crossed to Arthur's side of the table. He reached out to grab Arthur's shoulders and hold him steady. Biting his lip, Alfred leaned in close to examine Arthur's pale face. "What's wrong? You need to go back to the hospital?"

"No!" Arthur snapped. He took a deep breath. "I'm fine."

"Well you look like shit."

"I'm fine. Please, Alfred, I'm fine."

Alfred bit his lip. "If you're sure..."

"I am. I'm also guessing I don't date you for your bedside manner," Arthur grumbled as some of his usual color returned to his cheeks.

Considering that sarcasm seemed to be Arthur's default emotion, Alfred took it as a good sign. He leaned against the counter and gazed down at Arthur with a fond smile. "I have a fan-fucking-tastic bedside manner," he insisted.

Arthur snorted on the last of his tea and actually giggled. "That's _not_ what I meant," he replied with a sly smile. "I wonder if your mind is always this dirty."

"Nope! You must have rubbed off on me."

"And rubbed other things I would imagine," Arthur teased.

"Hah! Is 'thing' some of your fancy Shakespearean lingo?"

The Englishman's eyes brightened and he smirked. "You know, it actually _is_. The saying that 'you can't have too much of a good thing' comes from _As You Like It_, when Rosalind suggests that she would happily take Orlando twenty times over..."

Alfred laughed and tried to interrupt the scholarly spiel. "Arthur."

"And 'nothing' is slang for a vagina so _Much Ado About Nothing_ is a play on..."

"Arthur!"

The other man blinked and glanced up at Alfred in surprise. "What?"

"God, you're so adorable when you geek out over history," he said, leaning in with a smile at the way Arthur blushed in response. Clearly expecting a kiss, Arthur closed his eyes and tilted his head.

Alfred surprised him by scooping him out of the chair instead. Arthur's eyes flew open and he yelped in surprise at being carried bridal style. By the time they crossed the short distance to the bedroom, he had recovered enough to wrap his arms around Alfred's neck and pull him down into a lingering kiss. It felt warm and wonderful, far better than the kisses they had shared in the hospital's sterile air.

As Alfred lowered him to the bed, a frown crossed Arthur's face. "Wait... this reminds me of something," he said with a bewildered tone. After a moment's pause his eyes widened. "You sedated me with trickery!"

"Hey, you remember!" Alfred cried happily. His cheerful grin didn't falter until he saw the annoyed look on Arthur's face. "Uh... oops. Sorry, I thought it was better than having the psychologist call you crazy."

"That was probably for the best," Arthur replied, his eyes a little lost and worried. "I'm not crazy, you know. I just wish I could remember everything."

"Hey." Alfred crawled into bed and pulled him into a hug. "It's gonna be okay," he promised as he rubbed soothing circles on Arthur's back and relaxed with him on the cozy bed. It was still a little early, but he didn't mind making an early night of it if it meant cuddling with Arthur. Alfred had been a touchy-feely person in all of his lives, but with Arthur the feeling was much stronger. At first he thought it was a strong sexual attraction. Now he wondered if it wasn't something deeper. Was there a reason why Arthur looked so much like Edward? Even though the two Englishmen weren't related, was there some other connection?

While questions continued to swirl in Alfred's mind, Arthur closed his eyes contentedly and rested his head on Alfred's shoulder. "It feels better when I'm with you," he murmured, unconsciously echoing Alfred's thoughts.

Alfred took a deep breath and decided to take a chance. "I hope this doesn't sound crazy, but... do you believe in soul mates?"

"I do," Arthur replied without hesitation. He caught Alfred's gaze and smiled at Alfred's look of surprise. "There is more between Heaven and Earth..."

"Yeah," Alfred agreed. He felt a warm swell of affection as Arthur clasped his hand and cuddled closer. There was so much he didn't understand about his many lives, but of all the surprises he had faced over the years, Arthur was certainly the most pleasant.

Lost in deep thoughts, it took Alfred a few minutes to notice when Arthur began to snore. Alfred smiled and tucked the sheets around him. He curled up by the Englishman's side, hoping to sleep and perchance to dream.

* * *

><p>Alfred saw a dim light flare red in the fog. Curious, he made his way past rows and rows of tents watching the light move back and forth in a gentle motion. The fog was so thick it took him several steps to realize that it was just an English soldier smoking a cigarette. With his choppy blond hair and bright green eyes, the handsome man immediately caught Alfred's attention. He couldn't stop staring at the lithe figure no matter how much he tried. Something about him felt so familiar.<p>

The Englishman glanced up at Alfred, giving him an equally appraising look. "Fag?" he asked with a knowing smirk.

Alfred gaped in shock. "How did you...?"

"Here." The man offered him a cigarette and Alfred flushed red as he remembered what one of his chums had explained about English lingo. He let the Englishman light the cigarette for him and nearly hacked up a lung when he inhaled the smoke.

"Thanks," Alfred said between coughs.

"What's your name, lad?"

"Theodore. My friends call me Theo."

"What's your girl back home call you?"

"Don't know. Don't got one," Alfred admitted.

Time raced around them. The tendrils of fog began to dissipate, revealing a war-torn town. Alfred chased after the English soldier as they raced through the streets, trying to liberate the port from the Germans. As the fighting grew more intense, the Englishman pulled him behind a wall to shield them from the bullets. He leaned in to give Alfred a passionate kiss. Before Alfred had a chance to react, the English soldier had jumped to his feet and dashed back into the fight, leaving the American in his dust.

Alfred desperately tried to follow his lover through the fight, but it felt like he was trying to run through quicksand. Each foot was as heavy as lead. Fear filled him when he saw the English soldier disappear from his sight. Alfred knew instinctively that he would never see him again unless he could catch up. He fought to move forward, straining like he was pulling his legs through molasses. His legs refused to move, trapping him in desperate sorrow. The dust clouds surrounded him and the ground swallowed him into darkness.

He reached out his hand and screamed for Edward to come back.

* * *

><p>Alfred woke up in a cold sweat. He reached for the other side of the bed and panicked when he found it empty.<p>

"Arthur? You already up?" he called, hoping that Arthur was just an early riser. As he climbed out of bed, the dim light peeking the blinds told him that it was a little after dawn. Alfred pulled on his slippers and searched his apartment. Arthur's coat was gone, and so were his shoes.

He tried calling Arthur's phone, only to discover that it was still sitting in the bedroom next to his suitcase.

Alfred frowned at the useless phone. "Shit," he muttered.

Even though he had no idea where Arthur could have gone, he laced up his running shoes and dashed out of his apartment. Alfred jogged along the sidewalk, swiveling his head left and right as he searched for a familiar blond in a camel peacoat. But all he saw were a few early morning joggers and a couple of people with dogs that needed to pee. It was cold enough that everyone's breath created small clouds of white mist in the morning air.

With the disturbing dream fresh in his mind, Alfred worried for his missing Englishman. A thousand awful possibilities raced through his thoughts. Arthur could have collapsed somewhere. He could have gotten lost. Even worse, he might have been mugged or hurt in another car accident. Without his cell phone, Arthur wouldn't be able to call for help and there would be no clue to help the hospital find Alfred.

As he thought about the car accident, another possibility occurred to Alfred. Arthur might have gone back to the scene of the accident in the hopes of triggering more memories.

Alfred took the next left and picked up the pace. He breathlessly apologized as he dodged around a woman with a yapping spaniel. By the time he reached the empty intersection, he was gasping for air. Alfred leaned forward to catch his breath and despaired that he would never find Arthur. Feeling utterly helpless, he considered heading back to his apartment and hoping that Arthur would return soon.

Remembering that there was a park just a few blocks away, Alfred decided to search one more place. He jogged over to the small green space and nearly burst with relief when he spotted a slim blond seated on a bench, partially hidden by a large evergreen.

"Arthur!" he called excitedly. He grinned widely in response to Arthur's perplexed look and took the spot next to him on the bench, grateful for a chance to rest his legs.

"I thought you'd still be asleep at this hour," Arthur said.

"I _was_. But I couldn't sleep once I realized you were gone." He gave Arthur a stern look. "You shouldn't leave without your phone, ya know."

The Englishman snorted. "What did I say about mollycoddling?"

"I was worried!"

"Well, there's nothing to worry about," Arthur promised. A flicker of a strange emotion crossed his face. "I'm sure I'll always find my way back to you."

They sat in thoughtful silence as Alfred wondered if Arthur was referring to their shared belief in soul mates. As much as he hoped that he could find Arthur again, he knew from his experience as Theodore how hard in could be to find another person in such a large world. He sighed and broke the silence. "What were you even doing up so early?"

Arthur shrugged. "I find it easiest to think outside."

"Something on your mind?"

"This and that." Arthur stared at the ground. "This might seem a rather morbid request... but if something were to happen to me, would you visit my grave each year on Remembrance Sunday?"

"Uh, yeah. I can do that. But only if you promise to do the same."

"I will." Arthur quirked his lips as he turned his head to look at Alfred. "You know, our whole relationship is surprisingly graveyard-based."

"That's not true! It's at least 50% amazing sex."

"Only _half_?" Arthur replied with mock offense.

"Well... we could go back to my nice warm bed and increase the ratio," Alfred suggested. It was way too early in the morning and he was tired of sitting on a cold wooden bench. He reached for Arthur's hand and pulled the Englishman to his feet. They held hands on the way back to his apartment, sharing a small connection of warmth and affection. From his grasp of Arthur's fingers, Alfred could feel the other man shiver as they walked past the scene of the hit-and-run. He couldn't blame him. Alfred had experienced fourth deaths, and none of them were pleasant.

"Do you remember it now?" he asked out of curiosity.

Arthur nodded. "Mostly. The accident itself is still a bit of a blur, but I remember our argument beforehand."

"Oh." Alfred continued swinging their clasped hands back and forth as they strolled back to his apartment. "Yeah, about that..."

"I'm sorry I let you think that I was Edward's grandson."

"Um." Alfred felt his cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. He had been planning to confess his own deception, but he hadn't expected it to come up so quickly. He cleared his throat. "Uh, it's okay. Theodore wasn't my grandpa either."

"What?" Arthur stopped and gawked at him. "And you had the audacity to be angry at _me_?" he demanded. He pulled his hand out of Alfred's grasp and continued forward with a brisk stride, leaving Alfred in his dust.

"Wait!" the American begged, jogging to catch up. "I'm sorry! I had a good reason."

"This better be worth it." Arthur favored him with a disbelieving look, but he didn't slow down. A few more blocks and he would be back to Alfred's apartment, and this time he was going to leave for good.

Alfred began to panic. He hadn't meant to blurt out his apology, but he just couldn't bear to watch Arthur leave him. This was the reason he had never managed to keep a serious relationship. He hated to feel like he was keeping secrets, but his lovers never believed him when he told the truth. He took a deep breath and hoped that Arthur wouldn't try to send him to the psyche ward. "I _was_ Theodore in a past life."

That statement finally made Arthur stop and turn around, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Oh, my god," he murmured.

"I'm not crazy," Alfred protested.

"It all makes sense now!"

Alfred blinked. "...huh?"

"You, me, everything!" Arthur said with an excited shout. He pulled Alfred into a kiss and then tugged him back to his apartment by the hand. "You know," he said conversationally, "when I thought I was going to die, I knew in sixteen years' time I would find you again and make you fall in love with a green-eyed exchange student."

"What?" Despite his confusion, Alfred felt a warm sense of relief. Sure, maybe Arthur was acting a bit crazy, but they could both be crazy together for the rest of their lives.

Arthur began to pepper him with questions as soon as they stepped into the warm apartment and closed the door behind them. "So... you're nineteen? Born the day after Theodore died?"

"How did you... did you look at my driver's license?" Alfred demanded, his voice filled with confusion as he followed Arthur to the kitchen, where the Englishman had started to heat up some water for his morning cup of tea.

"Rather young to be a teacher, I suppose, but it's easy to finish your education when you've already learned it several times before."

Feeling his knees go weak, Alfred sank into one of the kitchen chairs. He needed a cup of coffee to kickstart his brain because there was something huge just outside of his grasp. The idea was too much to comprehend. Arthur believed him. Even more incredibly, he understood what it was like to live each new life with the memories of the past.

Arthur gave him a gentle smile, his eyes bright with excitement. "I am satisfied with the cause in which I have engaged. My only regret is that I have not more lives than one to offer in its service."

It was a good thing Alfred wasn't holding a cup of coffee. He would have dropped it and spilled the hot drink across his floor. A wave of emotions—shock, joy, astonishment, delight—crashed through his body. He recognized the words as his final words from his first life. But there was only one way Arthur could know them too. "You were _there_?"

"Indeed." Arthur nodded. "I remember it clearly because I said something similar myself a millennium ago at the Battle of Brunanburh."

Alfred looked into those sparkling green eyes and saw the accumulated joys and sorrows of many lives. "You died in battle and you were born again as someone new," he guessed. When Arthur nodded, he continued, "The memories slowly seeped back and by puberty, you remembered everything from all of your past lives." Alfred's eyes widened with realization. "That's how you transferred Edward's wealth."

"It was much easier than when I buried treasure as a pirate."

"My god," Alfred gasped. "I thought I was the only one!"

Arthur smiled ruefully. "So did I."

Their happy reunion was briefly interrupted by the water heater as it reached a roiling boil and clicked off. Arthur paused to prepare his cup of tea, giving Alfred some time to process his rush of powerful emotions.

"You _were_ William Shakespeare," he guessed.

"Correct." Arthur smiled as he added milk to his cup. "He was my most famous life."

"And Arthur Conan Doyle?"

"Was Scottish. I've been English all of my lives."

"Same here. I mean, I've always been American. I wandered the whole country my second life, trying to figure out what it meant," Alfred said nostalgically, remembering the life of an iterant preacher who liked to plant apple trees. "The tribes never bothered me. They told me that I was touched by the Great Spirit."

A thoughtful look crossed Arthur's face as he sat down with his cup of tea. "Interesting. I've always believed that the land accepted my offer of eternal service."

Alfred felt a knot of stress leave his shoulders. He didn't have to worry about keeping his secret anymore. He didn't have to worry about being alone. He leaned forward and cupped his chin in his hands. "Do you think there are others?"

"I've often wondered. We should search for them."

"Yeah." Alfred nodded. "But first, I want to know everything about _you_."

"Just Arthur or...?"

"Everyone."

"That might take some time," Arthur warned.

"That's okay." Alfred reached across the table for his hand and smiled. "We've got all the time in the world."

* * *

><p><em>Epilogue<em>

Eighty years later, a young American with a dark Californian tan stood on a grave and shivered. It was cold outside and he never got used to the feeling of standing on his own grave. He set a poppy next to the marker and waited. After a few minutes, he lifted his head again when he heard the crunch of leaves behind him. He turned around to see a young man approaching with a rose.

He smiled and waved. "Heyla, babe!"

"It's good to see you again, dearheart," a lightly accented and amused voice replied. They both took a moment to check out the other man. The Englishman smiled and leaned in for a kiss, drawing a few stares from the others in the cemetery.

"So... you looking forward to being the younger one this time?" the American asked.

The Englishman snorted. "I'll always be older than you, you know."

"Yeah. You're such a cradle robber." The American tilted his head to the side. "Also a bit of a grave robber, when you think about it."

"Oh, hush! One of these times I'm going to find you as a child and raise you with some decent manners."

"Pfft. You wouldn't dare. That would make the sex super awkward."

"Speaking of which...?"

"Already booked a hotel room. Come on, babe, I've waited twenty years for you."

They clasped hands, leaving the grave behind without a backward glance. From death, there was life. From life, there was love, And in love, they found happiness.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

Hah, you thought I wouldn't kill off Arthur! But I totally did. Heck, I killed both of them. Ssh, this definitely counts ;)

As many of you noticed, this story is inspired by Iggycat's Star-Crossed. I chose a different mechanism for reincarnation, but many thanks to Iggycat for the basic idea! She is the queen of AU ideas.

**Historical Notes**

A few historical details to fill in the gaps: I was totally ready to make Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle one of Arthur's past lives but it turns out he's the wrong nationality! Nathan Hale worked well as Alfred, though. He was a blond, blue-eyed schoolteacher who was executed for spying at the age of 21. As he alludes here, his second life was spent as John Chapman a.k.a. Johnny Appleseed. (The actual birth dates are two years off, but please ignore the discrepancy. In my AU, Johnny Appleseed was born after Nathan Hale died.)

**Blulious's Questions**

Blulious asked a few questions. Most are answered in the story itself, but I wanted to lay them out in case anything is unclear:

_1. Do nations reincarnate from birth or do they possess the closest corpse/person?  
><em>From birth.

_2. Can they sense other nations?  
><em>They sense that the other person is familiar and special. For Alfred and Arthur, they thought the tingling nation-sense was part of their strong sexual attraction.

_3. Is the government involved?  
><em>Nope. The NSA reads Alfred's texts, but they just think he's crazy :)

_4. How fast do they reincarnate? A minute? A day?  
><em>A day.

_5. How old are they? When did they start reincarnating?  
><em>With all of his lives counted together, Alfred is 259. His first death (as Nathan Hale) occurred in 1776. Arthur is 1107 years old. He first died in 937 C.E. in a battle that united England under King Æthelstan.

_6. Do they only have relations with men?  
><em>Nope. They're both bisexual.

**Thank you!**

Thanks to everyone for your follows, faves, and reviews! They brighten my day and encourage me to keep writing. As always, special thanks to Fire Bear1 for spotting my many, many typos. This story wasn't quite what I wanted it to be, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway!


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